


Cruel New World

by sugarbucket24



Series: Unnaturally Close [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, British knowledge of American Geography, Castiel (Supernatural) is Not Amused, Castiel has a cameo, Codependent Winchesters, Consensual Underage Sex, Dark Dean, Dark Sam, Future Fic, I can't stop making Dean say 'baby boy', Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In flashbacks again, John Winchester won't stay dead, King of Hell John Winchester, M/M, Murder Husbands, Obsession, Post-Apocalypse, Serial Killers, So apologies in advance, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This may be upsetting for people who are...normal, boys are obsessed with each other, dark boys, darkness like crazy, good in that they try to save people now, i swear to god I have not abandoned this fic, in flashbacks, kinda good boys, like really obsessed with each other, past scenes, sequel to Supernatural Born Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarbucket24/pseuds/sugarbucket24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has ended in fire and demons.  Among those who have survived, are Sam and Dean Winchester - America's Most Wanted at one point.  Now they save people, mostly.  The mostly is important, because nobody's perfect right?  So they still like kill someone every now and then - big deal.  But when they hear that John Winchester isn't as dead as he should be, everything is threatened.  Direct sequel to Supernatural Born Killers.  Dark and disturbing, you've been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Staying Dead

**-Cruel New World-**

_By Sugarbucket_

* * *

 

**-Chapter One: Not Staying Dead-**

_‘No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold,_

_Nothing satisfies me but your soul._

_Oh, Death._

_Well I am Death, none can excel,_

_I’ll open the doors to Heaven or Hell._

_Oh, Death._

_My name is Death and then end is here…’_

_-Jen Titus_

 

The blood was thin, warm and sticky.  Movies got it wrong all the time, such a simple mistake.  They made it look too thick, too dark.  Real blood, for those who know, is sweet and sticky and _alive_.  All that life pouring out of a person and they think it’s nothing more than a sign of injury.  The stickiness…Sam Winchester could write fucking poems, fucking _sonnets_ about the sticky, perfect consistency of blood.  That first little hit on the tongue, the rush of sampling someone’s life force.  The way it pinches your skin as it dries on your hands and arms.  The flow and ebb.  Bold, unapologetically red.  Bright, sweet and dirty. 

 

Yeah, blood was pretty fucking awesome.  Other people’s blood on his hands and even his face, it made him happy.  But his blood… _Dean’s blood…_ oh holy fucking Christ, that was something else entirely. 

 

Their blood was shared anyway.  Brothers, born of the same two people.  Their blood was Winchester blood.  Even if it wasn’t, they’d cut palms and bled promises into one another.  Their twin scars forever bore the mark of their marriage by blood.   And if they hadn’t done that, they’d have this.  They would have Sam cutting the tip of Dean’s tongue with a razorblade to see how long he could wait before smashing his mouth onto his brother’s and drinking him in.  Relentlessly chasing the sweet, wet warmth that sang with their connection. 

 

Dean’s blood was thin, warm and sticky and sheer fucking ambrosia.  Sam held the razorblade in his hand, ready to draw more of it the second it tapered off.  Not from his tongue this time, maybe from the hollow of his throat.  Dean might pretend not to like it, pretend to forbid it and Sam will bite his own lip until he draws blood.  Then he’ll kiss Dean deliberately, slowly; painting those _ridiculous_ lips red, red, red until his big brother caves and demands that Sam cut him, just a little.  Just enough to draw a thin rivulet of the magic that flows through Dean. 

 

Dean Winchester pulled back a little, just enough to look into Sam’s eyes.  “You love my blood, don’t you, baby boy?” he murmured, eyes swimming with lust, love and ecstasy.  “Love the taste of me, the taste of _us_?”  The tongue blood has started to recede and Sam couldn’t wait to draw more from somewhere else. 

 

“You know I do,” Sam replied darkly, eyes trained on his big brother beneath him.  “Could drink from you all night, Dean.”

 

That made Dean smile, his hand reached up to card through Sam’s long hair.  “Like a vampire?”

 

Sam Winchester just laughed softly and shook his head.  He slowly moved his hand with the blade up higher along Dean’s body.  The temptation to let it touch skin, to drag it along Dean’s side was powerful.  Countered only by the bone deep love and respect for Dean.  “Nuh-uh,” he breathes playfully shaking his head.  “Just can’t get enough of my big brother.”  Dean squirmed just a little.  He loved it when Sam called him that.  Loved being reminded of the fact they were brothers.  Sam tended to say it a lot. 

 

He was sprawled on top of Dean, who was semi naked beneath him.  On the hood of the Impala, someplace woodsy in Bumfuck Nowhere, Virginia.  Outdoors had always felt like home to Sam and now there was more reason than ever to avoid motels and any place inside. 

 

The apocalypse of 2004 had wiped out a good portion of America, leaving behind two thirds wasteland.  The one third left mostly intact was where survivors had fled.  The demons had followed, of course.  Demons would always seek out humans the same way Sam would seek out blood.  The big cities had been decimated, but places like this…places dominated more by nature had been left strangely alone.  The fires hadn’t reached that far. 

 

Sam and Dean Winchester had been amongst the 1.2 billion people left on the planet to survive.  China, as far as most people knew, had been the first to go.  The first country to fall and by fall, that meant _be wiped out._  China, Japan and most of Mongolia had been completely destroyed by the fire and the demons.  Australia had been mostly destroyed too, the fires sweeping through the country at a phenomenal rate.  Africa, the Middle East…partial destruction with a high survival rate in Algeria.  Europe was hit and miss, mostly.  An enormous earthquake had erupted and, along with the fire, taken out France, Germany and Italy.  Poland and Romania remained somewhat intact.  The UK avoided the worst of the earthquake but the fire destroyed Ireland and the entire Western side of England.  The demons localised in the South, an area thought to be a _‘pocket_ ’.  Pockets were extremely treacherous areas and to be avoided at all costs, making London one of the most dangerous places on Earth.  There were two such pockets in America.  Los Angeles (because _of course_ ) and New York.  The demons ran rampant over such areas, claiming it completely.  Once the demons settled in that area, the fires stopped. 

 

The US had lost entire states to the fires.  Any reliable map of the damage looked like a half finished bingo card of destruction and death.  The rainier and greener the state, the better off it was.  It wasn’t an official rule, but one that most people observed. 

 

The world didn’t come to a standstill though.  Life went on, if indeed it wasn’t the same as before.  Electricity was still possible, even abundant in some places.  Food and water were available in exchange for cash or goods, though mostly goods.  Farms that weren’t destroyed still produced food.  Anarchy didn’t reign completely, the cops were still cops, although they’d upgraded their weapons to accommodate rock salt and iron.  The demons took human form predominantly, so most of the water that was produced was blessed and made holy, as a way of catching them out. 

 

Sam and Dean hunted the demons.  They _mostly_ saved people now.  The mostly was important, for sure.  Sam still enjoyed ripping humans apart and seeing the insides quiver and twitch.  Still liked to kill and hurt and laugh, while Dean smiled indulgently and watched unblinkingly.  It was more that they tried to kill bad people instead of normal ones.  There were a lot of bad people to choose from, at least.  Most of the time it worked.  Mostly. 

 

Dean’s hand tightened in Sam’s hair, pulling him closer.  “Say it again,” he demanded softly. 

 

“My big brother,” Sam groaned, exaggerating every syllable.  “My beautiful big brother.  Wanna feel you inside me, Dean.  Want you to be so deep in my ass that I feel you for days.  Want you to fuck your _little brother_.”

 

“Oh fuck!”  Dean bucked up, eyes closing torturously.  “God _damn_ , what you do to me, Sammy!” 

 

Sam smiled and chased a long trickle of blood down Dean’s chin where it was starting to pool at the hollow of his throat.  The taste was, as always, incredible and if Sam wasn’t hard enough to hammer nails before, he was now. 

 

Dean knew it too.  “You want me to make you come, baby boy?  Come only from me fucking you, rough and hard against the car?”

 

Sam moaned deeply, grinding his cock against Dean clothed one.  “Yeah, God yeah, Dean!”

 

Hand still gripped in his hair, Dean leaned in closer and breathed, “You wanna use my blood for lube?”

 

It took a great deal of control for Sam not to come there and then in his pants, but he managed it.  He could manage almost anything for Dean, no matter the cost.  Rationality was abandoning him at an astronomical rate, but he held on long enough to say, “Can we use mine?”

 

Dean grinned that wolf grin; teeth and eyes and whatever it was in Dean that made him just that fraction darker than Sam.  “Now you’re talking,” he breathed. 

 

Everything was just about to get much more interesting, when something in the distance made both hunters freeze.  Years of long ingrained instinct kicked in as they both detected a noise not created by wind or bird.  It was the sound of something or someone stepping where they shouldn’t have, and then not moving at all to try to compensate for the mistake. 

 

Dean exhaled slowly, calmly and gave Sam the smallest nod.  It wasn’t a demon; if it was, it would’ve attacked right away, not caring to hide.  That meant humans.  There were ample trees around for cover, but Sam could tell Dean knew where the noise came from.  Fluidly, Sam moved off of Dean with an exaggerated sigh, pulling his jeans up a little and belted them. 

 

“Your turn?” he asked, carefully righting himself just enough to appear normal.  “Or mine?”

 

“Not been keeping track, Sammy?  I’m hurt,” Dean said with a grin.  “It’s your turn.”

 

Sam nodded and then closed his eyes, letting that part of him rise up to the surface.  The animal in him, the hunter.  The supernatural element within Sam Winchester was always looking to show off, to help him be a better…whatever he was.  He focused deeply.  Heard the wind, the trees, the gentle rustle of the leaves and then he heard breathing.  He heard human lungs taking in air. 

 

He spun, flinging a small silver knife hard in the direction of the lungs.  There was a gurgled scream of shock.  Dean shoved away from the car and headed towards the sound.  When he came out of the shrubs, he was dragging a young boy, no older than twenty.  Sam’s knife had hit a few inches above the heart.    

 

“Enjoying the show?” Sam asked the boy with a smirk.  “Or were you planning on something stupid, like trying to kill us?”

 

Dean yanked him up by the collar and gave him a once over.  “He doesn’t look stupid.  He looks scared.”  He leaned in close and moved his nose up the boy’s neck, smelling him.  “He _is_ scared.  You see somethin’ boy?”

 

The boy spluttered and nodded, hands scrabbled around the knife.  “P-p-please!” he managed. 

 

Dean sighed and dropped him.  “What did you see?  Tell us and we’ll take the knife out, might even stitch you up.”

 

“Dean,” Sam said.  “He’s gonna go into shock.  We should just kill him and move on.”

 

Now the boy was having some kind of panic attack. 

 

“Can do,” Dean said with a shrug.  “But I get the feeling we should find out what he’s seen first.  Your call, baby boy.”

 

Sam supressed a shudder at the words, considering his options.  On the one hand, he hadn’t had a good kill in _ages._ Hadn’t felt the blood flow and bone break in so many months now.  On the other hand, Dean clearly thought they should do T _he Right Thing_ in this instance.  Hmm.  There were always others. 

 

“Get the kit, I’ll pull the knife.”

The boy’s blood was thin, warm and sticky.  Sam let him bleed five seconds longer than was necessary before patching him up.  He watched it pulse and ooze, endlessly fascinated by it.  He felt Dean’s eyes on him the whole time. 

 

“So,” Sam said once the real danger had passed.  “For your sake, I hope you’ve seen something worth telling about.”

 

“I was…I was sent here to give you a message,” he wheezed, clutching at the painful area of his chest.  “Took me two days to find you.  Had to use a tracking spell.”

 

Sam tensed and felt Dean do the same.  “Who sent you?”

 

There was a great big moment of hesitation before the young boy replied with trepidation, “He said his name was John Winchester.”

 

* * *

  _Hope you all enjoyed that.  I'm working on this as hard as I can, along with a few other projects so bear with me._

 

_Bex._

 

_x x x_

 


	2. Old Ghosts, New Demons

**-Chapter Two: Old Ghosts, New Demons-**

_‘Holy water cannot help you now,_

_See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down._

_And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out._

_I’m gonna raise the stakes, I’m gonna smoke you out._

_Seven devils all around me!_

_Seven devils in my house!_

_See they were there when I woke up this morning_

_I’ll be dead before the day is done.’_

_-Florence + the Machine_

 

“John Winchester is dead,” Dean said, voice cold and hollow.  “I emptied a fucking clip into him.  He’s dead.”  He tried to keep the fear at bay…the icy creeping fear that maybe something worse than a few thousand demons had crawled out of hell.  That maybe John _fucking_ Winchester had clawed his way out.  But Sam heard it in his voice, he knew that.  Dean heard it too and hated it, hated himself for it.   

 

The kid shook his head, eyes trained on the ground.  “He said you’d say that.  He laughed about it.  Said you two always were s-slow learners.”

 

Sam was _itching_ to grab him and force the truth out of him, Dean could feel it.  They were so closely linked, often Sam’s feelings bled into Dean’s and vice versa.  He wanted to do the same, except more than that – Dean wanted to hurt the kid.  He wanted to wrench something other than what he was saying out of his mouth so the sick feeling would go away. 

 

“What else did he say?” Sam asked, eyes flicking once to Dean and then away again. 

 

“He said for you to come find him.”

 

“Where?” 

 

“He didn’t tell me a location.  He moves around all the time.  Last I saw him, he was in Meridian, Mississippi.”

 

Something prickled over Dean’s memory; an instinct.  “Before that?”

 

“Uh…Enid, Oklahoma I think.”

 

_‘Yup.  Fucking brilliant._ A nostalgia tour of All The Places Daddy Hurt Deano _.  Fuck him and his bullshit,’_ Dean though bitterly.  Sam picked up on it too, probably before Dean did.  He just looked at him, calm and placid waiting for Dean’s lead. 

 

“Get the fuck out of here, kid,” Dean warned him.  “Don’t go back to him, though it’s just a suggestion.”

 

The boy didn’t need to be told twice and he scrambled off the moment Dean said he could, leaving Sammy and him alone with the news. 

 

“Well, fuck,” Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.  “Ain’t that just like him?  Can’t even fuckin’ stay dead!”

 

Sam was deadly serious, though.  He could see straight through his attempts at humour, straight to his core as always.  “Dean,” he said.  “This is bad.”

 

“Yeah, no shit.”

 

He move closer, Dean’s beautiful brother; darkness personified.  “If he’s out, it’s because he’s a demon now.  He’d have been down there for hundreds of years, soul twisted into something beyond recognition.  He was practically a fucking monster _before_ you killed him.  I can only imagine what he is now.”

 

There was a weight on Dean’s shoulders that hadn’t been there for years; a leaden force pulling him downwards.  Since that day he’d murdered John, nothing had scared Dean anymore.  Even being parted from Sam had been temporary, he had always known that; always known he would find his way back to him, no matter what. 

 

John Winchester was the only thing Dean had ever been afraid of.  The damage he had done to him, but more importantly to Sam…well, it was the reason his hands were shaking. 

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam said insistently.  “You hear me?”

 

“Yeah,” he said, trying to shake the worst of it off and failing.  “Yeah, I hear you Sammy.  Look, we know where he’s gonna be.  We find him, we kill him.  No different from any other demon we’ve wasted.”

 

“Then why are you shaking?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, not answering. 

 

“Dean, we need to talk about this!”

 

Dean got in the car and yelled at Sam to do the same. 

 

“Yeah, well – that’s obviously the best tactic,” Sam said, dark eyes avoiding looking at his brother.  “What do you wanna do?”

 

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel and didn’t reply. 

 

*

 

Marnie Sanderson was really tired.  It wasn’t quite the exhaustion that came at the end of the day, but it ran a close second.  More like the tiredness that hit around midday and wouldn’t fade until caffeine intervened.  Marnie sighed, remembering the last time she’d had caffeine.  It had been months.  Caffeine was pretty rare where she lived and maybe it was rare all over the world, she wouldn’t know.  Since the demons, she’d stayed in her small town, Frankfort, Kentucky.  It was small enough that most of the bad stuff had bypassed her and the remaining residents. 

 

Marnie worked in the only gas station in town and it was a dangerous, tiring job.  Her two brothers were outside with shotguns, keeping watch for trouble makers or something worse.  She worked the register.  The store inside was sparse; the once fully stocked shelves now barren, save for a few cans of food no one would eat given a choice.  The good stuff was in the back, where select few could afford it or needed it. 

 

People came and went, mostly passing through with horror stories of other states and occasionally, other countries.  It made her grateful to be in Frankfort and reasonably safe. 

 

She still had a couple of hours to go before she usually went home, but it had been a slow night and she was thinking of closing early.  She was starving and her brothers would definitely be hungry too from a long day of sitting outside, keeping watch.  It was actually sounding like a pretty great idea when a car rolled up. 

 

The engine sounded in nice shape, something of a rarity lately.  She peered over the counter, mildly curious and saw a sleek, black car.  Vintage maybe, she didn’t know a lot about cars.  As she watched, two men got out, smiling and talking animatedly to her brothers, Ray and Aaron.  The eldest one was gesturing a lot, grinning and rabbiting on a whole lot while the other put gas in the car.  Both her brothers were talking to the older one, Ray was laughing at something. 

 

Once the car was filled up, the taller one came to join them.  Marnie thought he was beautiful; the kind of beautiful that made her chest tightened and made her wonder what she was going to say when he came in to pay. 

 

Then everything went to hell. 

 

The older one did something to Ray, a sudden movement that looked like he was punching him in the chest except for the spray of blood that erupted out of him.  Aaron staggered back, shocked for a moment before he went to aim the shotgun, but the younger one yanked it away and turned it on him, firing until it ran out of shells.  Marnie let out a strangled scream, wanting to run and help, frozen with shock and disbelief. 

 

They’d heard her scream, though.  Both sets of eyes locked onto her and her knees went weak.  The older one smiled, covered in her brother’s blood and moved towards her but then the taller, younger one put his arm out to stop him with a small frown.  Marnie took her chance and dropped under the counter to grab the gun hidden there.  She’d shot it plenty of times, knew it well; knew the feel, the trigger.  It was an old six shooter, fully loaded.  Both her brothers had shown her how to shoot it, how to feel comfortable with it.  She supressed a sob and tried to focus.  They weren’t demons; there were devils traps all around the gas station, they wouldn’t have been able to move.  So they had to be human.  Marnie had killed worse things than humans, or so she’d thought. 

 

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and tried to focus.  One good shot each - that was all they needed to go down.  She heard the door open, heard them enter.  She exhaled and waited. 

 

“Hey Sammy?” one of them said, voice playful and light.  “I thought I saw a pretty girl in here.  Y’know…I bet she’s under the counter, finger on the trigger of some old gun.”

 

The other didn’t reply and Marnie tightened her grip, steeling herself.  “That’s a pretty good plan, except that I’ve got her friend here.  The one _not_ blown in half by his own shotgun.”

 

Marnie didn’t breathe.  She listened for any indication of it being true, of Ray still being alive. 

 

“C’mon, asshole – make some noise for the pretty girl!”  There was a groan as a result of some kind of blow given by the speaker, probably a punch.  It sounded like Ray.  “That’s a boy!  Come on out now, sweetheart.  Your friend here doesn’t have to die.  I only nicked him.”

 

“Don-don’t do it, Marn!” Ray spluttered. 

 

“You shut the fuck up,” warned another voice.  Lower and more serious. 

 

“If you don’t come out and show me that gun, I’m gonna gut this boy and trust me, I can do it real slow,” the playful voice warned her.  “I’ll throw him to you, piece by piece.”

 

“I’m already fucked, Marn!  You shoot them first chance you get!” her brother implored. 

 

“Not even gonna count to three, sweetheart!” the bastard called.  “You either get up right the fuck now or your friend-”

 

“It’s her brother,” the other one interrupted softly. 

 

He chuckled at that.  “Get your ass up here or the first part of your brother I throw you will be his dick!”  Marnie didn’t move.  “Suit yourself!”

 

She heard her brother scream and all the rationality left her.  She jumped up from the counter, swinging the gun around at the men.  The shorter one was holding Ray up, knife digging in his throat.  She saw blood, but not enough that he’d been fatally wounded.  The tall one was watching her carefully, no weapon in sight.  She kept the gun aimed at the short one, the one who was smiling. 

 

“That’s a dumb fuckin’ move,” he laughed.  “Still – deal’s a deal.  You want your brother?  I only got him in the shoulder.  Lot of blood there, but not fatal if treated.  Now, you put that gun down and I’ll let you patch him up.  Sound good?”

 

He was watching her with a dark kind of hunger that made her stomach turn.  “You’ll kill me if I do.”

 

He laughed again, cold and cruel.  The taller one stepped forward slightly and said, “What’s your name?”

 

She hesitated before replying, “Marnie.”

 

“Marnie.  I’m Sam, this is Dean.  We need gas and a few other things you have here.  Now, we killed that guy out there…”

 

“Aaron!” Ray screamed.  “His name was Aaron you piece of shit!”

 

Dean sniggered, but Sam went on and said, “We killed Aaron but we don’t need to kill you.  We don’t care about you.  We just want some supplies and we’ll be on our way.”

 

She badly wanted to believe it, it sounded honest.  But there was something missing from the both of them.  It was in their eyes, their faces.  They were going to kill her, she felt it. 

 

She decided to fire, to take her shot but before she got a chance to squeeze the trigger, Sam whipped out a gun so fast she barely saw it.  He fired and pain exploded in her arm, the one holding the gun.  In shock and pain, she dropped the gun, let out a scream and staggered back. 

 

“Stupid bitch,” Sam muttered. 

 

“Nice one, Sammy.  I’ll watch them, you find supplies.”

 

Marnie took huge, heaving breaths.  She’d never been shot and it hurt like mother fucking hell.  The bullet was stuck in the bone of her arm, she could feel it there.  She heard a body drop.  Was it Ray?  She couldn’t see, the counter was blocking her view. 

 

The short one, Dean came around the counter, confirming that Ray had been either knocked out or killed.  He was smiling charmingly and under any other circumstances it would have been breath-taking.  He stopped when he got near her and crouched down. 

 

“Ouch!” he said, looking at her arm.  “You’d better put some pressure on that, sweetheart.  Wouldn’t want you to bleed out just yet, would we?”

 

She gasped, her eyes flooding with tears.  “Wh-what are did you do to Ray?”

 

“He’s taking a nap,” he answered, eyes roving over her.  “It’s better for him, really.  You’re the starter.  A warm up, y’know?  He’ll be the main course.  Good looking guy like that?  My brother will take _hours_ with him.”

 

Marnie tried not to throw up.  “You’re sick,” she whispered. 

 

“You got nothing to worry about from Sam,” he said with a wink.  “He hates girls.  Hates to kill them, says they whine too much.  No, honey.  You’re all mine.”

 

“Dean,” Sam called.  “They’ve got a decent amount of ammo, along with the stuff we needed.”

 

“Great,” Dean replied, never taking his eyes off of Marnie.  “Load the car up, baby boy.”

 

Marnie tried to shuffle away, because his face was closing in slowly – almost like he was going to kiss her.  “Y’know,” he breathed and she felt it on her lips.  “You’ve got beautiful skin.  It’s all smooth and untouched.  I bet you don’t have a single tattoo, huh?”

 

After a moment she shook her head in confirmation.  He grinned.  “Mmm, clean canvas.  I like that.  I’m gonna draw all over you, pretty girl.  Make you into a fuckin’ Picasso.”

 

“Dean,” Sam said, and he was close by.  “C’mon.”

 

Dean yanked Marnie up by her injured arm, causing her to scream and struggle.  “You stay close to me, honey.”

 

She saw what they were taking.  Aside from ammo, they’d taken a lot of salt.  Some food, two petrol canisters which she knew they would fill.  Once Sam had taken everything they apparently needed, he came over to Dean, smiling softly and nuzzling into his brother.  The gesture was unmistakably sexual, though Marnie was too shocked and terrified to feel any disgust. 

 

“Kill her, Dean,” her murmured.  “Kill her and we can play with the other one.”

 

“But I wanna play with her first,” Dean replied. 

 

Sam pulled away.  “No,” he said, sounding annoyed.  “Kill her.  Now.”

 

Dean tightened his grip on her arm and Marnie winced.  “Please…” she cried.  “Please let us go.”

 

“Shut up, bitch,” Sam hissed and she saw the disgust in his eyes.  Dean was right; there was genuine hatred there.  “You say another fuckin’ word and you’ll beg for death in any form!”

 

“I’m gonna kill her, Sammy.  But I just want-”

 

“No.”

 

Dean grabbed Marnie’s hair and pulled it cruelly, bringing her close to him.  “What are you gonna do about it?  You gonna let some fuckin’ bitch shrink your dick?”

 

“Fuck you, Dean.  You know as well as I do why you wanna tear her apart.  You’re fucked up about John and this is how you deal!”

 

Marnie felt dizzy and sick; they were talking about her like she was livestock that couldn’t understand the things they were going to do to her.  She had to get away, had to make a break for it even without Ray.  Her gun was on the counter where she’d dropped it, right behind her.  She could spin and grab it, get off a few shots and run. 

 

“This is who we _are_!” Dean snarled. 

 

“Like when we used to take hostages?  Like when you’d go out and find girls wearing his fucking jacket?  You’re full of shit!”

 

Dean threw her down viciously and she skidded away from the counter, near to Ray who was still unconscious on the floor in a pool of blood.  She watched as Dean punched Sam in the face, breathing hard – all traces of the playful, charm gone.  “How can you say that to me?” he breathed. 

 

“Because it’s true!” Sam replied, spitting blood.  “We can’t go down this road because of _him_!  That’s what he wants, that’s why he sent that kid to tell us!  He knows you, Dean!”

 

Dean shoved his brother back against the counter, hand around his throat.  He was shaking, Marnie could see it.  She began to inch backwards towards the store room, eyes fixed on the pair. 

 

“That’s not true,” he told Sam.  “It’s _not_!”

 

Sam brought his hand up and despite being strangled, he lovingly stroked Dean’s cheek.  He shook his head and waited. 

 

Dean let out a breath and his grip loosened.  He dropped his head to Sam’s chin and closed his eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

 

Sam dipped down, tilted his brother’s face up and kissed him.  Marnie was almost at the door when they broke their kiss and looked at her.  “You’re right,” Dean said with a nod.  “You’re always right, baby boy.”

 

Sam smiled and Marnie knew what it meant for her. 

 

*

 

_Author's Note: So sorry for the huge delay, I can't even begin to apologise enough.  Something pretty huge and distracting (and wonderful!) has happened in my life but things should be back on track now.  Next chapter will be nowhere near as long a wait, I promise._

_Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this.  More to come soon._

_Feedback and thoughts would be adored!_


	3. Chapter Three: Shatter the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so way beyond sorry that this basically got abandoned. I started writing it right before I had a baby and that was probably a stupid move. Anyway, this is NOT abandoned and I will finish it, God damn it. I really hope this long chapter makes up for the short one before. This got filthy and dark, but that's nothing new. Hope you enjoy.

**-Chapter Three: Shatter the Light-**

_‘_ _You're made of my rib bone baby,  
_ _Y_ _ou're made of my sin.  
And I can't tell where your lust ends,   
And where your love begins.   
I didn't want to hurt you baby,  
_ _I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you,_  
But you're pretty when you cry.’

_-VAST_

 

Sam’s eyes were closed, face tilted up slightly and Dean knew he was listening.  To the world, the wind, to everything.  Sam was, and had always been, so in tune with certain aspects of things, especially the supernatural.  Dean had instincts, well-honed and sharp, but Sam was different.  Sam was, for lack of a better word, magical.  Psychic, maybe.  Tied to all things dark and strange. 

 

Sometimes he would listen for hours and Dean would let him.  He’d just watch his little brother at work, doing what came naturally to him.  Sam’s intuition was a large part of what kept them ahead of the curve, trouble wise.  At times, it kept them alive and it always kept them connected. 

 

When Sam opened his eyes, it took him a few seconds to adjust to the world around him.  He blinked slowly, as though returning from somewhere very much else.  Dean waited. 

 

“It’s definitely bad,” he said, somewhat grimly.  “There’s something else too, hovering around him.  Something _really_ bad, but I can’t see it yet.  We need to get closer.”

 

“What kind of bad?  Our kind of bad?”

 

Sam shook his head, frowning.  “No.  Something…else.” 

 

Dean let his posture appear relaxed and welcoming as Sam shifted into his space, behind him, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.  “We’ll be OK, baby,” he said softly.  “We always come out on top.”

 

Sam smiled into Dean’s skin.  “Usually, _you_ come out on top.”

 

“Usually,” Dean smirked.  “But you know I’m versatile.”

 

Sam growled a little, arms wrapping around his big brother possessively.  “There’s something out there, Dean.  I don’t like it.  It’s new, but it’s old too.  Very old.”

 

“A demon?”

 

“No, definitely not a demon; they all smell the same.” 

 

“Well, fuck whatever it is.  I’ll kill it for you,” Dean said, as Sam opened his mouth and dragged his teeth roughly down Dean’s neck.  “I’d kill anything for you.  “You love it when I do that, don’t you baby boy?”

 

“You know I do,” Sam mumbled against Dean’s neck.  “Love everything you do.”

 

Dean sighed a little and stilled.  “We’re gonna kill him, Sammy.  Together.  For real this time.”

 

“I want to kill him,” said.  “ _I_ want to do it this time.  You got to do it last time.”

 

“Seems fair.”

 

“You should have let me kill him when I asked you to, the first time.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes with a grin.  “Sammy, you were seven.”

 

“I could have done it.”

 

“And what if you’d messed it up?  What would he have done then?”

 

“Worse than what he usually did?”

 

Still and quiet once more, Dean replied, “Maybe.”

 

“I hope he’s hard to kill,” Sam said with undiluted loathing.  “I hope he fights this time.”

 

“He will,” said Dean with certainty.  “Trust me, he will.”

 

*

 

_Sam was seven years old and for the first time he realised the potential of guns.  He’d known how to clean, disassemble and even fire a gun for almost a year but never before had he really_ understood _what they could do._

_John had told him they were for killing monsters.  Sam believed him, he just hadn’t realised until now that John was a monster himself._

_Guns put holes in monsters.  They shot and tore and made blood leak and pour until the monster died.  John was a monster.  Only a monster could hurt Dean like that.  Nothing human could hurt Dean because Dean was strong and tough.  He could run faster than Sammy, fight better, shoot better.  Apart from math, Dean was better at everything.  He’d killed things before too._

_So when their father hurt Dean badly enough to make him cry, Sammy knew the truth and knew exactly what he had to do about it.  John had to die._

_Sam sat eating his Lucky Charms, watching John drink more and more of the stuff that made his eyes go red and his breath stink.  Sam sat still and stayed quiet the way John liked, as if he wasn’t there…and planned to kill him._

_Sam knew where to shoot to kill monsters.  Sometimes the heart, usually in the head.  To be safe, he’d shoot John in both.  Then Sam supposed they’d have to get rid of the body.  Dean would help, he was stronger than Sam._

_John looked up.  “You OK there, Sammy?” he asked, eyes narrow and unfocused._

_Little Sammy nodded gently and continued eating his Lucky Charms.  His legs swung back and forth underneath the table as if he was thinking about bikes and baseball, not about when John would pass out so Sam could kill him.  John couldn’t see his legs, couldn’t see that Sam was happily, excitedly imagining his death._

_“You do your homework?”_

_“I don’t get homework yet,” Sam told him, not for the first time.  He always got that mixed up.  Maybe he thought Sam was actually Dean, but then if he did he wouldn’t care whether or not Dean did his homework.  Dean always cared about Sam’s reading and school stuff.  “But I did some reading with Dean earlier.”_

_Nodding, John turned back to the wall he’d been staring at.  “Where_ is _Dean?”_

_Sam’s legs stopped swinging.  “Dunno,” he said carefully, thinking of the gun he was going to use to kill his father.  Probably one of the Glocks, Sam knew them better than the others.  Absorbed the kick well._

_It was getting late, almost time for dinner and Sam knew Dean would be along shortly to cook for all three of them.  Sam also knew exactly where Dean was, always did.  He was in the shower, trying his best to wash away the dried bloody in strange places he thought Sam hadn’t seen._

_“Tell him to get his ass out here!” John yelled, knowing full well that Dean could hear him.  “Leave some God damned hot water for the rest of the town!”_

_Fingers tightening around the spoon, Sam worked hard to keep his face neutral and not scowl at the way John spoke to Dean.  It was his fault Dean needed to shower like that anyway.  It made Sam sick to think of his Dean being hurt in such a way.  Made his skin crawl with a burning hatred for the man._

_Minutes later, Dean emerged dressed and composed, much cleaner than he had been this morning.  He ran his hand through Sam’s long hair on the way past him and ruffled it; an involuntary gesture, he probably didn’t even know he’d done it.  Sam supressed a smile, delighting in the contact._

_“Sorry, Sir,” Dean said perfunctorily.  While he busied himself with boiling pasta and making sauce, he caught Sam’s eye and winked.  His way of apologising for leaving him with John, of letting him know everything was fine.  Even if it was a lie.  Sam could always tell when someone was lying, especially when it was Dean._

_Dinner was quiet and quick, neither Sam nor Dean wanted to spend unnecessary time in John’s presence when he was like this. There were days when he didn’t drink that stuff, when he trained them relentlessly.  Over and over again until they couldn’t move where their muscles ached so badly.  Times when he was sharp eyed and focused, perhaps even less of a bastard.  But there were times like this too._

_“Bed early for you t’night, Sammy,” John slurred as Dean washed the plates and Sam dried them, standing on a chair.  Sam forced himself not to look at Dean, not to react…because he wasn’t stupid.  He knew what that meant.  It meant Dean being hurt, Dean crying sometimes and cuddling his little brother close not for his own comfort, but to protect him._

_“’kay,” he said simply.  Yeah, he’d go to bed early.  But he wouldn’t be sleeping.  He’d be loading that gun and then creeping into the room where John took Dean.  He’d be killing John.  Putting holes in him until there simply_ was _no more John._

_Then he’d sleep, wrapped in the arms of his big brother._

_Later, dressed in boxers and a faded hand me down tee of Deans, Sam was silently loading the gun of his choice.  He felt the weight, reassuringly heavy and gripped it in his small but capable hands.  The noises from across the hall had stopped a few minutes ago.  Sam had decided to wait until there were no more noises.  No matter how much it hurt him to wait, he knew it was safest.  Sam was a good shot but he wasn’t so good that he couldn’t make a mistake in the dark.  No, he had waited until John would be passed out and alone._

_Sam felt a dark thrill of anticipation, unlike anything he had ever felt before.  Not only for freeing Dean, for saving him…but for actually killing John.  He was looking forward to seeing the mess the bullets would make of John’s strong body.  Most of all, he wanted to see the blood._

_As he opened the door of his bedroom, he realised Dean was standing there, waiting for him._

_Biting his lip hard, Sam looked at his big brother.  At his face, the tear tracks he’d obviously wiped away with a hand.  The blood on his lip, a nasty fresh bruise and other injuries hidden by his clothes._

_“Sammy,” Dean whispered and his eyes went straight to the gun.  Sam waited, breath held in tightly, to see what Dean would say._ ‘You can’t kill him, it’s wrong to kill!’ _or ‘_ How could you do that to our father?’ _ran through Sam’s mind and he felt nervous that Dean would frown upon this.  Upon him._

_But Dean only smiled tiredly and gently pushed Sam back into the room, closing the door behind him.  “I can’t let you Sammy,” he told him._

_“Fine,” little Sammy said fiercely.  “Don’t_ let _me.  Gonna kill him anyway.”_

_“No,” Dean said, calmly.  He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and looked at his little brother.  “You’re not.”_

_“Why not?” Sam hissed, careful not to raise his voice.  “How can you protect him, Dean?”_

_“I’m not,” Dean explained patiently.  “I’m protecting you.  He’s tougher than you know, Sammy.  There’s no way you could be sure you got him.  He’s a light sleeper, too.  Can’t take the risk.”_

_Sam didn’t understand how Dean could be like that. “But I want to kill him, Dean!  Let me kill him for you!”_

_Dean shook his head and smiled again.  “You’re not ready.”_

_That gave young Sam a moment’s pause. He looked at Dean, really thought about what he meant.  “But someday I will be?”_

_“I think so,” Dean said, holding his arms out for Sam.  “There will come a time, trust me.” Sam climbed into his lap and wrapped himself around Dean carefully, lips resting on his neck, breathing him in._

_“I hate him hurting you,” Sam sobbed gently into his brother’s skin.  “It makes me burn, like there’s a hand in my chest gripping my heart.”_

_“I know, but it doesn’t matter so long as he’s not hurting you, baby.”_

_Sam wanted to say that it_ did too _matter, it mattered a whole hell of a lot, but he didn’t._

_“Do you love him, Dean?”_

_His big brother was silent for a while, contemplating the answer to the extent that Sam thought he simply wasn’t going to answer at all, but then he replied, “I did once.  I still remember what it felt like to love him.  To look up to him and respect him.  Part of me loves him in a way, I think but it just loves that memory of him before Mom.”_

_Sam snuggled closer.  “I don’t have any of those memories.  I don’t think I ever loved him.”_

_“That’s better for you, Sammy.  Believe me.  You see him for what he is.”_

_“He’s a monster, Dean.  Same as any we’ve ganked.”_

_“I know that.  Just can’t risk anything happening to you.  There’ll be a time, baby boy.  You’ll see.”_

_After that, Dean went to brush his teeth and do final checks on salt lines.  Sammy felt almost numb with disappointment.  He’d been anticipating seeing John’s blood, watching the life drain from his eyes.  Ever since John had started hurting Dean in that terrible way, there had been a darkness in Sam, sitting patiently within him.  It grew a little every day, changing the way Sam saw the world and everyone in it with the exception of Dean.  Dean was the still point of the turning world and nothing would ever change that._

_It would have been nice to kill John.  Maybe even wonderful._

_Still, Dean had promised him and his big brother always kept his promises._

_*_

Quinn had been a demon for one hundred and three years and by his own estimation, he was a pretty decent one.  In that he was fast, strong and enjoyed a good ritual disembowelment as much as the next soulless fiend.  He’d met all kinds of other demons, one or two of whom turned even his stagnant blood cold in his veins. 

 

The recently resurrected John Winchester surpassed them all. 

 

He kept his distance from the guy; he’d witnessed first-hand what a bad idea it was to be too near him if he was given bad news.  It wasn’t that John was especially cruel, or even violent.  It was that he was very _imaginative_ …creative, even, when it came to pain and torture.  He was a powerful son of a bitch too, had a few tricks Quinn had never seen. 

 

“So,” John Winchester drawled coldly.  “Tell me again?”

 

Quinn hadn’t been the messenger until now and he had really liked it that way.  Previous messengers, particularly those bearing bad news, weren’t exactly in good shape…or any shape at all unless you counted puddles as shapes.  Quinn had bad news to repeat, he’d already said it once and could tell where this was headed so he decided to try and spin it another way.  A way that might not result in grisly dismemberment. 

 

“OK, so _although_ we don’t have an exact location for the uh…targets, per se – we do have an idea of where they’re going.”

 

Winchester’s eyes flashed.  “Oh?”

 

“Yes.  Sam and Dean are heading in the direction you pointed them and the _targets_ are following them.  We think.”

 

“How do you know?” he asked, watching Quinn carefully with unblinking black eyes. 

 

Quinn cleared his throat a little before continuing.  “There was a sighting.”

 

“Finally got those cowardly pieces of shit involved.  I knew my boys would get their attention sooner or later.  OK then.  Let’s saddle up and make tracks.  I wanna feel what it’s like to kill one of those fuckers.”

 

“And your sons, sir?  What is the uh…objective in regards to them?”

 

John Winchester stared long and hard at Quinn, unblinking and genuinely terrifying.  It was difficult not to notice that the other demons behind Quinn had taken several steps backwards in anticipation of slaughter and bloodshed. 

 

Then he laughed.  A bark of laughter that made everyone flinch.  “There’s no _objective_ , you dumb ass son of a bitch!  They’re _my_ sons.  Mine.  If I see any one of you go near ‘em, I’ll rip your guts out and use them as boot laces.  Focus on the targets and the rituals to weaken them.”

 

Quinn nodded, fighting back the intense relief that he was still alive.  “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Good, now go keep a close eye on my boys _and_ those fuckers hovering around them and next time, come back with good news or don’t come back at all.”

 

He didn’t even reply that time, just nodded respectfully and left.  Once he was out of earshot, he let out a huge breath.  This was not going to end well for Quinn.  He felt it.  Even if John Winchester somehow succeeded in his insane plan, he’d probably kill Quinn to use his skull to piss in, just for the hell of it. 

 

Quinn, not for the first time, had made a mistake.  A bad alliance.  Chosen the wrong side in allying himself with John.  It wasn’t like he could just quit, either.  Guts for shoelaces, remember?  Fuck. 

 

The remaining option was hardly appealing, but this was a cruel, new world and needs must. 

 

Fucking Winchesters were going to be _so_ smug. 

 

*

 

_Sam Winchester was ten years old and so in love with his brother he couldn’t stand it.  He knew there was a difference between what he felt for Dean and what normal people, like the other boys in his class, felt for their brothers.  It had only become clear to him recently that the aching feeling in his chest and body whenever Dean was nearby, meant that he had fallen in love with him.  Sammy had always loved Dean, loved him so completely it eclipsed everything else.  This was new, or at least the intensity of it was new._

_Dean was fifteen and so beautiful, it hurt to look at him sometimes.  His body had changed; he was strong and capable and_ stunning _.  Sam couldn’t stop looking at him, no matter how much it hurt.  Sam had realised a few months back that these feelings he was having, the desire and longing he felt for Dean…it was because he was in love._

_It changed everything for Sam.  He knew now that he would never love anyone like he loved Dean.  He knew he would always be drawn to him in this way and that no other would suffice._

_He knew other things too.  He knew the darkness in him was growing.  Knew that one day, it would be ready to let loose upon the world he so despised.  The world that stood by and did nothing to protect them from their father.  The world that couldn’t save itself, let alone two young boys.  The world that allowed Dean to be hurt._

_John still hurt Dean, only now Sam knew the word.  Rape.  He’d heard it in school, on the news.  Knew what it meant and who it applied to.  The other injuries aside, bruises and cuts from fists, John was hurting Dean by raping him.  Dean still did nothing about it.  Still allowed himself to be hurt, to be raped and used until he bled and tore and sometimes, cried.  Sam knew why he still allowed it; he was protecting his little brother, of course._

_There was no limit to what Dean would withstand to protect Sam and Sam had fallen in love with him because of it.  It wasn’t just that Dean was now the personification of beauty and desire; it was because Dean was his whole world and he knew, he_ knew _he was Dean’s whole world in return._

_Sam also knew Dean was in love with him, too.  He felt it, in everything Dean said and did.  Knew it deep in his soul.  But Dean wouldn’t or couldn’t acknowledge it yet.  Maybe Sam was still too young for him to see it._

_He would wait, patient and enduring, for the day when Dean would realise that he was in love with his little brother._

_“Sammy!” yelled John, bringing Sam from the pleasant reverie with a snap.  “Get your ass out here!”_

_Smothering a scowl, Sam rolled off the bed he’d been laying on and went to John.  He and Dean were outside the hotel; Dean bent over the Impala, head not visible as he examined the engine.  John was finishing loading up the car with all their minimal belongings.  Leaving another town, another state._

_“You ‘bout done?” he asked, for once sober and sharp._

_Sam nodded.  He had emptied the room of any trace that he and Dean had spent time there._

_“Good,” said John, distracted as he packed up the car.  “That’s good.  Dean, you got it?”_

_“Yeah, just about,” Dean replied.  Sam knew he was replacing the spark plugs; an easy task for either one of them.  When he withdrew from the hood of the car, he caught Sam’s eye and Sam forgot how to breathe.  It was a hot, sweltering evening in Fort Valley, Georgia and Dean was only wearing an oil stained vest.  When he smiled, slow and almost shy before looking away, Sam was literally spellbound, caught painfully between aching arousal and all-consuming love._

_“All right, let’s hit the road.  I’ll drive first, you two boys can sleep in the back, get some rest for tomorrow.”_

_Dean’s looked surprised at the uncharacteristically generous offer from their father.  It was almost how a normal father might treat his sons.  “You sure?”_

_John looked at him and Sam watched carefully.  There was a trace, only a trace mind, of something resembling guilt as John observed Dean’s surprise at the basic gesture of kindness.  “Yeah.  I’ll drive till morning then we can switch.”_

_Sam and Dean knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth and they took the rare offer of rest without further questioning._

_They piled into the back seat, Dean laying down first, arm open for Sam to climb into his embrace.  They’d always slept this way in the car.  John didn’t even notice it and if he did, he never said anything.  When Sam was wedged up against Dean, uncomfortable but blissfully happy, Dean dragged the old blanket over them both, for warmth._

_This was when Sam felt at peace, truly happy and safe.  Face pressed into Dean’s chest, breathing him in.  Dean’s arms wrapped around his little brother, keeping him away from the rest of the world and to himself._

_Dean sighed, hugging Sammy closer.  “My Sammy,” he breathed.  “You’ll always be mine.”_

_*_

The trail wasn’t cold, far from it - but Dean and especially Sam knew when they were being lured into a trap.  The demons that overran the Earth had often crusaded after the Winchester brothers, sometimes even trying something moderately smart but this felt different. 

 

Dean knew it was something else. 

 

It was midday, on an open road with the sun causing the car to overheat a little.  Dean pulled over so and he Sam could get some air, potentially fuck against the car and most importantly, Sam wanted to see if he could finally get a sense of what this thing was following them. 

 

Sam took his tee-shirt off and threw it into the back of the car, tipping a bottle of lukewarm water over his head. 

 

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean groaned.  “I am gonna fuck you through and through, baby boy.”

 

Sam was smiling, soft and coy with that underline of danger.  Dean could never get enough of his unpredictability.  It was how his little brother had always been, right from the start. Unpredictable, but utterly Dean’s – heart, soul and mind. Sam was the only one who had ever surprised Dean.

 

It was here, on this brightly lit sunny day when Dean could almost have forgotten the world was overrun with demons, that it happened.

 

Sammy had clearly been expecting it, didn’t seem the least bit concerned. There was a rush of air, like wings slicing through the heat waves on the road and _there_ it was. 

 

Or, there _he_ was.  A normal ass looking guy wearing a fucking beige trench-coat and blue tie.  He was kind of hot, in a bible salesman kind of way. 

 

“There you are,” Sam hissed quietly.  “I’ve felt you following us.”

 

Dean looked to Sam, not sure what exactly this guy was.  Sam was glaring at him, eyes bright and full of that delicious violence only Sammy could unleash.

 

“He’s an _angel_ , Dean.  Can you believe that?”

 

“A fuckin’ angel?  Shit, yeah I believe it but…wow.  That’s some irony right there.”

 

The guy, _angel_ , beg pardon – was standing ramrod straight, head shifting as he looked at Dean and Sam in turn.

 

“You have to stop it,” the angel said in a deep, gravelly voice. 

 

“Stop what?” Dean asked calmly. 

 

The angel narrowed his eyes, looking somewhat ruffled.  “Stop what you’re doing with each other.”

 

Sam laughed, rich and amused. “That’s funny, you know,” he said, sitting on the hood of the car. “When I was on my knees, about to pass out with my Dad’s cock down my throat and I prayed for an angel to save me, you weren’t exactly around then, buddy.”

 

“I couldn’t…” the angel faltered, clearing his throat and shaking his head. “We can’t intervene.”

 

“What the fuck is _this_ , then?” Dean asked, chuckling.

 

“There’s no time to explain such things and it wouldn’t matter if I did,” he said, looking mostly at Dean.  “John Winchester has a plan in place that has to be stopped.  You won’t succeed if you continue this…relationship.”

 

“Because?” Dean said, moving closer to Sam, his hand skimming over the surface of his strong shoulder.

 

The angel glared.  “Aside from it being a sin,” he explained.  “It’s what John Winchester is looking to exploit.”

 

“You got a name, angel pie?” Dean asked smoothly.  He felt Sam shift, not liking the pet name at all. 

 

“Castiel,” the angel answered after a hesitant moment. 

 

“Awesome.  Cas, you can just stop right there, OK?  We don’t need your help, instruction and least of all interference.  So, fuck off back to whatever cloud of privilege you came from and let us deal with dear old Dad.”

 

“Or stay,” Sam said with a feral grin. “And join in? I bet it _sucks_ having to watch everything from on high, never getting to touch or feeling anything.”

 

“That is not my concern,” Castiel said gruffly, but his cheeks flooded with pink and Dean couldn’t help but grin.

 

“OK, well what if we have some terms?” Sam asked quickly, cat like reflexes coming into play. “How about it we _only_ agreed to temporarily stop fucking long enough to kill John, but in exchange for something?”

 

“…in exchange for what?”

 

“Like how about letting me fuck _you_?”

 

The angel’s flat stare was too much and Dean let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Cut it out, Sammy,” he said affectionately. “Look, we know how to deal with John, OK? You being here is proof enough so seriously, fuck off.”

 

“Or,” Sam couldn’t help adding. “Fuck you?”

 

“You two have walked a dark path long enough and we have stood by and allowed it because we were anticipating a moment like this,” Castiel said, finding his voice once more. “What John Winchester has planned cannot come to pass.”

 

Dean growled a little. “Yeah, but everything else he did before was swell, huh?”

 

“It was not our concern,” he repeated.

 

“Then neither is the fact that in about twenty seconds, I’m gonna fuck my little brother till he begs me to hurt him just that little bit more, so he comes all over himself, bent over the hood of our car.”

 

Sam moved closer to Dean, the anticipation of the sordid act clearly delighting him. “Wanna watch?” he asked with mock shyness. Dean loved how dangerous and unpredictable Sam was sometimes, especially when around someone new, someone he could play with. Dean also got the sense that Sam didn’t particularly like the angel, which made it all the more delectable.

 

“You have to stop it,” the angel said, but he looked away a little.

 

“No,” Dean said finally losing his patience. “We won’t. You can stay, keep saying it if you like. Send the big guy down, get him to try if you like. We won’t be _stopping_ anything besides that piece of shit who couldn’t stay in hell.”

 

There was a whisper of wings on air and Castiel was gone.

 

“Fucker,” Dean grumbled. “Coming down here giving orders.” His body language was smooth and calm, but Sam could tell something about the angel had gotten to Dean.

 

Sam gave him a measured look. “You think he’s hot.”

 

Dean shrugged. “In a bible salesman kinda way.”

 

“I don’t like the way you looked at him.”

 

“Baby, you don’t like the way I look at anyone.”

 

“Because you should only be looking at me.”

 

Dean turned quickly, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and held him still while he moved his face close, lips hovering over his brothers. “I _am_ only ever looking at you, baby. That’s the whole problem. That was always the problem. You’re the whole fuckin’ world, Sammy. Everyone else, they just wander in and out of my peripheral now and then. Nothing more.”

 

Sam tangled his hands in Dean’s hair. “Tell me, then” he begged. “Tell me like the first time all over again.”

 

*

 

_Sam Winchester was thirteen and realised for the first time that his big brother was just as fucking obsessed with him as he was with in turn. It was the kind of obsession that hurt every day, ached deep in his chest and stomach; sank low into his groin where it sat, heavy and noticeable for what felt like eternity._

_The world had narrowed irreversibly, the moon and the stars were named Dean now. The night sky, the taste of his own blood from a thumb tack…everything good and enjoyable was tainted with the knowledge that Dean was behind it, would make it so much better._

_Sam’s head swam with his burning, all-consuming love for his brother. It drove him crazy, sent his body into a frenzy whenever Dean was nearby, brushing against him and smiling. Sometimes Sam wanted to die, wanted to fucking_ explode _from how much he loved him and it was all lovelovelovefuckfuckfuckneedneedneed. Sam was a teenager, spent every possible moment alone with his cock in hand and there had never once been any thought besides his brother. That was the way it had always been. No girls, no other guys, no tits or strangers. Just Dean, the centre of his universe, fucking him. Sucking him, kissing him, biting him. Drawing blood, making delicate bruises. Tying his hands, tying him down. Making him come untouched, making him come again, making Sam cry with overstimulation as he begged for more. Inside, deep inside him in the way his body burned for. He was hollow without him, it echoed in his heart._

_But Dean had never said anything, never shown any genuine glimpse of a mad passionate longing his little brother. He loved Sam, it was and had always been evident that to Dean, Sam hung the moon. But Dean fucked girls, sometimes boys. Dean kissed Sam’s cheek, then went out and fucked people who weren’t his blood. Sam hated it. Couldn’t bear the inadvertent betrayal._

_Until Dean slipped up._

_Dean was a little drunk, smelling that way he always did when he’d fucked a guy. That specific scent of aftershave, not perfume. Stronger sweat, faintly detectible smell of come that wasn’t his own. Girls smelled so different from boys. Sam hated either smell, hated that his brother carried his so-called conquests into whatever shithole they were staying in, covered in someone who was_ not _Sam._

_But this time Dean was clearly upset and had gone drinking_ after _he’d fucked the guy._

_“S’mmy,” he slurred, pouring himself a glass of water. “You up?”_

_Of course he was. Sam never slept when Dean was out, hated being alone in the bed, hated how he had to spend the entire night imagining what Dean was doing._

_“Yeah,” he called, making his voice sound sleepy. “Whassup?”_

_“Uh,” Dean paused, like he’d forgotten where he was. “No, nothing. Go back to bed, baby.”_

_Sam’s heart lurched, hot blood flooding his face and cock. Dean sometimes called him that, albeit unintentionally. It made Sam’s head swim with desire, wanted to chase the word right out of his mouth and make him say it over and over, swallow each endearment until they were hot and heavy and Dean was screaming them._

_“You OK?” he asked, because Dean was pale and taut, despite being a little drunk._

_“Yeah, seriously – go back to sleep.”_

_“I wasn’t asleep,” Sam said. “You know I wasn’t.”_

_“I know,” Dean said, dropping his head as he leant over the sink, hands braced on either side. “I know, Sammy.”_

_“You have fun?” Sam couldn’t help but ask, his voice cold even to his own ears._

_“No,” Dean said outright. “I uh…made a mistake.”_

_Concern rose up fast. “What happened?” Sam demanded. “Did someone hurt you?”_

_“What? No, nothing like that. I just…made a mistake.”_

_“So? Who cares? You need to me to kill them?” Sam asked casually and Dean chuckled, but they both knew Sam was deadly serious. They rarely spoke of it, as they did many things, but Dean knew who Sam was, knew what he wanted to do. Knew his heart. Fucking owned it too._

_“No, but thanks.”_

_Sam waited and then said, “What’d you do?”_

_“I said the wrong name,” Dean said, voice oddly strangled._

_Sam’s breath caught. “Oh?”_

_Dean closed his eyes, facing away. “Yeah, the guy was pretty pissed.”_

_Determinedly sounding casual, Sam asked, “Whose name did you say?” When Dean didn’t reply, he pushed on. “That guy from the steakhouse? He was hot. Or uh, that older guy from the gas station in Louisville?”_

_“No.” The word was laden with finality, like Dean was begging him to stop but Sam could never stop, could never back away._

_Sam demanded quietly, “What does it matter whose name you said? You’ll never see him again, who cares?”_

_So quietly, Dean spoke. “I said ‘_ Sammy’ _. Right when I came.”_

_Now Sam couldn’t breathe. Dean was going to say how fucked up it was, how disgusted he felt._

_“That doesn’t mean anything,” he lied calmly. “Like, I probably just popped in your head, y’know?”_

_But Dean wouldn’t take the out, wouldn’t nod and force himself to smile. He turned around, approached Sam and dropped to his knees in front of him. The desperation on his face was unbearable._

_“I can’t do this,” Dean whispered, even though John wasn’t there and there was no need to be quiet and stay hidden. “Can’t keep lying, can’t keep it inside me anymore, Sammy.”_

_Dean was gripping the material of Sam’s sweats, head bowed as he confessed through gritted teeth what Sam had only ever dreamed about._

_“Say it then,” Sam whispered, trembling all over._

_“Need you to say it first,” Dean said, his voice shaking. “If I’m wrong…if you don’t feel like I do…I’ll die, Sammy. I’ll fuckin’ die.”_

_Sam dropped to his knees, grasping Dean’s face with his hands._

_“Dean,” he moaned low and urgent. “You know I’m in love with you.”_

_His big brother was stone cold sober now, Sam knew his face so well. Dean looked like he couldn’t believe it. “Say it again,” he asked seriously, because this was not something he would accept lightly._

_Sam swallowed a sob. “I’m in love with you, Dean. Not the way brothers are supposed to love each other. I think about you every minute of the day, I want you so badly it hurts.”_

_Dean let out a little punch of air at that, like he could barely believe it. “Jesus Sammy, this is so fucked.”_

_“No,” Sam said, reaching behind Dean’s neck. “Tell me now. I said it, Dean.”_

_Dean seemed to break. Sam had never seen it before and it was beautiful._

_“I’m in love with you too, Sammy,” Dean confessed as he looked down, sliding his hands into Sam’s long hair. “I think…I think I always have been.”_

_Sam’s heart was thundering in his chest, in his ears. He could barely keep his breathing steady._

_“In love how?”_

_Dean looked up. “In love like you’re all I see when I fuck other people. In love like you’re in my bloodstream and my heart and my mind. In love like I said your name when I came less than three hours ago.”_

_Sam tried to stay calm, but he felt like he was going to shake apart. In all the time he’d had these feelings for Dean, he never seriously thought it was be reciprocated. Dean was his guardian, his protector and best friend. To ask for more had seemed impossible._

_“Don’t cry,” Dean said, voice cracking as he wiped away the tears on Sam’s face. “Tell me what you’re thinking, baby boy.”_

_“I’m thinking,” Sammy said, trying to get a grip. “That this is a dream.”_

_Dean kissed Sam then. He leaned forward and closed the small gap between them, pressing his lips to his brothers with tentative care and obvious hesitation. It was chaste and closed mouth, testing the waters. “S’not a dream, Sammy,” he breathed. “I’m so in love with you I can’t see straight. I think… I think I always have been.”_

_Something inside of Sam simply snapped. He slammed his mouth to Dean’s, sloppy with inexperience and desperation. Dean returned the kiss, tangling his hands in Sam’s long hair as he moaned into his mouth. Dean’s experience was evident to Sam but it meant nothing anymore. Dean had been thinking of him, saying his name as he came. It was love, it was the definition of love._

_Dean stood up, taking Sam with him and the two kissed in the middle of the harshly lit kitchen. Sam dragged Dean backwards, forcefully keeping the kiss connected. When the back of his legs hit the table, he pulled Dean downwards and shuffled back until he was lying down on the table, his big brother heavy on top of his. Christ, he was going to drown in this feeling and never resurface._

_He was so hard, leaking precome indecently through his shorts. “Dean,” he groaned, breaking away for air as Dean trailed sloppy, wet kisses all down his neck. “Fuck me. Do it, I want you inside me.”_

_Dean stopped, pulling back. His lips were red and somewhat swollen, fucking delicious. His eyes were wide, pupils blown and Sam wanted to fucking explode just looking at him. “No, baby,” Dean said. “We’re not doing that till you’re older.”_

_Sam sat up a little, leaning back on his elbows. “Seriously? Dean… I don’t give a fuck about being older!”_

_“Well, I do,” Dean said and Sam knew there would be no winning this argument tonight. “But I’ll make you feel good, baby boy don’t you worry.”_

_He pressed a searing kiss to Sammy’s mouth and his deft, work-roughened hands slid down the inside of Sam’s shorts and into his boxers, gripping his eager, aching cock. Sam gasped as his head fell backwards, hitting the table with a thud. He was going to come embarrassingly soon._

_“That’s it,” Dean whispered, lips against Sam’s ear as he worked him pumping rhythmically. “So hot, so hard for me baby, huh? You gonna come for me?” Sam cried out, biting his lip as he tried not to, wanting this to last forever. Dean bit his ear, hard enough to send a jolt through Sam’s whole body and his orgasm his him like a freight train. Dean worked him through it, whispering filthy, hot words into his ear, nestling in his brain and ruining him for all eternity._

_“Love you,” Sam slurred. “So much.”_

_Dean kissed him and said, “Show me.”_

_*_

 


End file.
